


The Great British Bake Off

by Glayvas



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Baking, Children, Christmas, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glayvas/pseuds/Glayvas
Summary: “Daddy, please tell us the story again!”“Again? I told you last night, and this morning, and after tea time this afternoon. Surely you want a different one this time.”“No, Daddy! The tent story!”Arthur sighed and pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose. Why he ever decided to tell them this story in the first place, he had no idea. It didn’t exactly paint him in the best light.He looked down at their wide eyes, their little pouts, and knew he was a goner. He glanced at Gwen. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was the one putting them up to this. On cue, she caught his eye, winked, and went back to rolling out the gingerbread cookies.Resigned, Arthur began.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2020





	The Great British Bake Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).



> Happy Merlin Holidays, LFB72! I love GBBO and was so excited to get to write this prompt for you. I hope you enjoy this bit of holiday baking fluff!

“Daddy, please tell us the story again!”

“Again? I told you last night, and this morning, and after tea time this afternoon. Surely you want a different one this time.”

“No, Daddy! The tent story!”

Arthur sighed and pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose. Why he ever decided to tell them this story in the first place, he had no idea. It didn’t exactly paint him in the best light. 

He looked down at their wide eyes, their little pouts, and knew he was a goner. He glanced at Gwen. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was the one putting them up to this. On cue, she caught his eye, winked, and went back to rolling out the gingerbread cookies.

Resigned, Arthur began. 

***************************************************************

How in the hell did he get here? 

As the VP of a Fortune 500 company, he was used to pressure. He was used to speeches. Hell, he was used to cameras. But nothing could prepare him for this. 

Groaning, Arthur reread the directions for the hundredth time:

_Welcome to the celebrity version of the Great British Bake-off!_

_As a contestant, you will compete with 3 other do-gooders in this year’s Christmas Charity Special! This year’s theme is **Medieval Bakes**. _

_Bakes will be divided into three different contests:_

_The Signature: any medieval recipe of your choosing.  
The Technical: this will be a surprise!  
The Showstopper: an elaborate bake in which you will build a towering edible castle. _

_Please remember all of your winnings go to a charity of your choosing. See you in November!_

Baking? Bloody _baking_?! Arthur could imagine Uther cackling whilst signing him up for this monstrosity of a charity event.   
Morgana _did_ cackle when she told him. “Arthur,” she'd purred, “Uther has a special new project for you…” The evil glee in her eyes had told him he wasn’t going to like whatever was coming next. 

Thank god for Gwen. At least she was going to give a crash course so he wouldn’t be a total embarrassment to himself and the company. 

Really, what the hell was Uther thinking?

***************************************************************

Three months later, Arthur didn’t feel any better about his prospects in the tent. Dozens of eggs, countless broken measuring cups, and an inordinate amount of sugar and flour later, he still couldn’t bake so much as a cookie. He’d even exasperated Gwen — a difficult feat.

The tent rose in front of him, white and looming. He dragged his feet, praying he wouldn’t make a complete idiot of himself.

Behind him, he could hear the most annoying chattering. Whoever it was was clearly the exact opposite of Arthur. This person was absolutely thrilled to be included. 

“Me? A celebrity? I think they made a mistake; my little band can’t be counted as famous, but I'm not going to complain. Wow! I can’t believe we’re here! We’re so lucky…” and on and on and on until Arthur wanted to turn around and bark at the man to shut it. 

And just when he thought the man had finally cooled it, he squealed “The tent! It looks even bigger than on the telly!” so loudly that Arthur jumped. He couldn’t take this.

He wheeled around, preparing to tell him just where to shove off to, but when he actually saw this man who was positively radiating excitement, his mouth went dry. All angles, gorgeous blue eyes, long eyelashes; the way he was nervously biting his lip made Arthur shiver with a different kind of excitement. 

Who was this man?

Arthur turned hurriedly back around so as not to be caught staring and marched determinedly into the tent. He wasn’t listening to him anymore, the man whose voice was definitely annoying and absolutely not sexy. 

No. He wasn’t listening at all.

*************************************************************** 

“Get set.”

“Get ready.”

“BAAAAAKE!”

The task was set and Arthur was having trouble remembering how to breathe, let alone how to bake. The man was assigned to the station directly in front of him, and he had no idea how he was supposed to concentrate on anything else. His dark head was bowed over his copy of the directions, meticulous scribbles that Arthur just caught a glance at while setting up his own station. His black hair was tousled into the “I just rolled out of bed” look that Arthur usually detested... but my God did it look good on him. His ears stuck out comically at the sides of his head, poking through his hair, but Arthur liked that, too. 

Arthur shook his head like he had water in his ears. He had to clear the fog caused by the man in front of him. Shit! Everyone was already running around, throwing things in bowls, and Arthur was just standing there.

An hour later and Arthur wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. His Flaune of Almayne was quickly becoming a Flaune of Embarrassment. His custard hadn’t set properly, his burnt raisins looked like little bits of poo atop it, and worst of all, he had a soggy bottom. Paul and Prue were going to skewer him. 

He stared at the mess of a dish and seriously considered leaving right then. 

“Alright, mate?” 

His head snapped up. It was the man with the ears and the definitely not sexy voice. He was looking right at him and Arthur could feel himself drowning in those dark blue eyes.

“Mate?” His expression was full of concern, head cocked to one side. 

"Yeah,” Arthur grunted in reply.

“You sure? You look right devastated. Let’s see, shall we?” 

The man came around to Arthur’s side of the counter. 

“Ah. Looks like your custard’s not right.”

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur grimaced. Who _was_ this guy? And why in God’s name did he smell so fantastic? “Thanks for the astute observation.”

Arthur expected the man’s mouth to fall open, a look of indignation to pair with a huffy exit. In fact, he was hoping for it — maybe Arthur could think properly if he were just a bit further away. He wondered if he could get his station changed.

Instead, the man laughed a tinkling, free laugh that made Arthur’s stomach swoop. 

“Touché,” he said. “Name’s Merlin.”

“Is that a joke? I’ve already gotten the King Arthur one a few times today... medieval theme and all.”

“Your name is Arthur? Guess we’re destined to be friends, then. And friends help friends with shoddy custard.”

Arthur needed to get this man, this _Merlin_ , out of here. There was no way he was going to fall for someone right now. Not after the last time. 

“I’ve got it. If I need help, I’ll ask for it,” Arthur snapped. 

This time, a look of hurt did register on Merlin’s face, but just for a second. He gave a quick, shy nod, dropping his head and quickly went back to his own station. 

That was what Arthur wanted, right? So why did he feel so bad?

After a truly excruciating round of judging in which Arthur failed miserably (Paul’s blue eyes bore into him and said “It’s nearly inedible” while Prue told him that “It wasn’t worth the calories." Merlin, on the other hand, earned a Hollywood handshake, and the sight of his beaming, flushed face at the compliments made Arthur think of other things that might give him the same look), he truly couldn’t wait to get this thing over with. 

“BAKE!”

He whipped the gingham towel off and read the recipe. “Ha!” Oggies! This was the _one_ thing he knew how to make! He had vivid memories of tottering around the kitchen with his mother Igraine as she made this dish. They were traditional where she grew up in Cornwall. He hadn’t made it in a while, but at least he could try and make something edible this time. 

Half an hour later, Arthur had made his rich beef and saffron filling, made his short crust, and was happily pinching the seams of the pasties together. They weren’t exactly beautiful, but he had hope they'd at least taste good. 

After putting his in the oven, he glanced up at Merlin. He did not look good. His hair was sticking up in odd places, like he had run his fingers through it several times. His apron was covered in flour and materials were strewn all over his bench. 

Arthur could see the problem from here. His dough had become too warm and was too thin, and was no match for the generous amount of filling he'd prepared. It was oozing out all over and coming apart no matter how many times Merlin had tried to patch it. Frustrated, Merlin slammed the last few pasties on the cookie sheet and put it in the oven. 

Arthur had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get worse for Merlin’s bake once exposed to more heat. He looked at the man, beautiful, kind, and felt even worse for having snapped at him. 

Why did he always drive the good people away? What was it about him that made him distrust those who were kind?

Arthur didn’t actually need a therapist to tell him how royally screwed up that was, or to tell him the cause: his relationship with his father.

He didn't want to play out this pattern anymore. He was going to start fresh with Merlin. 

“Time’s up!” the judges called, breaking Arthur out of his thoughts. 

Everyone had placed their completed bakes upon the gingham altar behind their own photographs, the pictures turned backwards so Paul and Prue couldn’t see the faces on them and identify which bake belonged to who. Arthur had oh-so-swiftly moved his own picture out from behind the shiny, golden, crisp oggies and set it in front of the sagging, pale, oozing ones, transferring Merlin’s in front of his own plate. He sat down on the stool next to Merlin’s.

The judges moved slowly down the line. Arthur's and Merlin’s plates were right next to one another. When they came to what should have been Merlin’s, they ripped it apart. Arthur’s — now Merlin’s — earned their praises. Merlin never looked up.

“In last place, we have this one.” Paul pointed to Merlin's-turned-Arthur’s soggy mess. “Sorry, Arthur. A bad bake again.”

Merlin’s head snapped up. He could see it was Arthur’s picture in front of his own bake. Comprehension dawned, and Arthur caught his eye and shook his head slightly. Merlin opened his mouth, confused, ready to say something, but Arthur stepped on his foot and shook his head firmly again.

“...which means, the winner is... Merlin, with yet another wonderful bake!” Merlin shrugged off the congratulations and kept laser focus on Arthur. 

“Great job, mate,” Arthur said, and walked away.

*************************************************************** 

It didn’t take long for Merlin to find Arthur in the break tent. 

“Why did you do that?” he demanded. 

Arthur shrugged.

“Are you trying to blackmail me or something?” 

Arthur laughed at the look of genuine fear on Merlin’s face.

“No, of course not. I just realized I was… well, before... I was a... a real...”

“Clotpole,” Merlin supplied. 

Arthur stared at him. 

Merlin laughed and nodded. “Yep, a clotpole.”

“Yeah. That.”

“Well, that’s nice of you, but I can’t accept it. It’d be a sham if I won.”

“Who would know? Besides, it’s for charity.”

“ _I_ would know.”

“Noble much, Merlin?”

“Yes. And I know you are, too. I’ve read about you. About your charity work.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Someone’s been googling me, I see?”

Merlin blushed and grinned, but didn’t respond. 

And when they were called back to the tent, Arthur couldn’t help but to think that the pink color on Merlin’s cheeks was his favorite in the world. 

*************************************************************** 

“It’s the Showstopper! Your task is to build a medieval themed castle. You can use anything you want, but the whole thing must be edible. Ready—”

“Get set—”

_“BAKE!”_

A damned castle. Who came up with these torture plans? 

Arthur had made meticulous blueprints for his — a replica of Château de Pierrefonds. He had stayed up all night measuring the particulars. This was something he could understand, after all. Architecture was his family’s business. If only he could make the castle out of non-edible things, he would win with ease. 

Two hours later, he and the other participants were sweating away. Arthur glanced around to compare his progress. The soap star actress to his left was disheveled. Her makeup melting, she was constructing what appeared to be castle ruins rather than an intact castle. Her chocolate collars weren’t sticking, and no wonder — the heat of the tent was stifling.

Merlin, too, was red faced. Bent over comically to accommodate his height, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Merlin was meticulously decorating cobblestones that led up to his gingerbread statue of... could it be? Was Merlin making the same castle as he was? 

Arthur couldn’t believe it. Merlin's definitely looked better, but the fact that they chose the same one had to mean something. Arthur shook his head. He was being ridiculous. 

_“TEN MINUTES, BAKERS!”_

He was just putting the final touches on his castle — which looked passable, at least — when he heard a gigantic cracking sound. With horror, Arthur saw one of his castle turrets snap in half under the weight of the gumdrop roof tiles. In seemingly slow motion, the turret rolled down, crashing into the rest of his castle and thoroughly smashing half of it to bits. Arthur was devastated. 

“...help?” 

Arthur could feel everyone’s eyes on him, along with a vague sense that someone was standing near and speaking to him. 

“What?”

“Can I help?” It was Merlin. 

Arthur shrugged. “It’s rather pointless, I think,” he sighed. “It’s a shame — this one wasn’t half bad.”

Merlin looked at him, mouth set in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed. And then he walked away. 

Arthur was nonplussed. Did he say something to offend him? He'd thought they were on a better foot now. They had even had some banter here and there throughout the day, and Arthur had thought that maybe, just maybe, they could snatch a few more moments alone before the show wrapped. This whole time, he couldn’t wait for all of it to be over, and now he was dreading its end, willing time to slow down. 

Arthur was shaken out of his thinking by a second loud cracking sound. Groaning, he looked at his castle, expecting to see it disintegrating even more. But his castle was unchanged. 

He heard gasps from the other contestants and looked around to Merlin. The cracking sound had come from _his_ castle. 

Dumbstruck, Arthur watched as Merlin tore apart half of his once perfect, beautiful castle.

With a determined look on his face, Merlin carried the still standing half of it over to Arthur’s bench and began fusing the two together with streaks of icing. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“We were both making Château de Pierrefonds, right? Now we can both have a completed bake.”

“But,” Arthur sputtered, “you would have won. Yours was amazing!”

Merlin shrugged. “Now _ours_ will be amazing.” He grinned, waggled his eyebrows and said, “Now get over here and help me make these two halves a whole.”

***************************************************************

Their end result was not amazing. Misshapen, with globs of icing oozing out of the cracks, in fact, it barely even resembled a castle at all. 

Merlin looked at Arthur nervously, and Arthur looked back at him with the same expression. 

Had he just cost Merlin the win?

Suddenly, both of them broke into hysterical laughter. By the time the hosts had called the final _“TIME'S UP!”_ , they were wiping tears from their eyes.

*************************************************************** 

“And then you lived happily every after,” the little girl sighed.

Just then, Merlin came through the door, arms loaded with newly wrapped packages. 

“Yes, Morgana. We lived happily ever after, and are still doing so, eight years later. Though it _would_ have been nice to win.” Merlin glanced at Arthur. “You were telling her our story again, right?”

“For the hundredth time,” Arthur grumbled.

“Alright you lot, let your papa and I have some peace. I think Auntie Gwen’s cookies are ready!” The children ran out screaming toward the kitchen.

As Merlin set the gifts beneath their Christmas tree, Arthur noticed a rather peculiarly shaped one among the rest. 

“What’ve you go there, love?”

“Open it and see,” Merlin said, standing back up and holding it out to Arthur.

“Alright, bossy.” 

Carefully, Arthur unwrapped the red paper flecked with gold. 

“Is this—?”

“Yes. Château de Pierrefonds in gingerbread form. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks now.”

“That’s what all of those ‘runs’ were about!” Arthur laughed. “I knew you couldn’t actually be exercising.”

“ _Ha ha,_ very funny.” Merlin grew suddenly serious. “Do you like it?”

“No. I love it,” Arthur replied before kissing Merlin. “Our two halves whole.”


End file.
